I Am Not Alone

He says He was a flirt telling jokingly to girls he loved them could not make any binding contracts And he always got away with his histrionic gestures Until he met me To whom He never used those three words   He says all this to me; to one who has learnt to mistrust but somewhere at some point I began to trust that  he is remotely serious   I sit and listen to him talk for hours. And as he speaks- I focus on his words And the way his mouth makes those sounds.   I know I'm not  meeting his eyes and he can tell I'm staring and he humors me relentlessly and we pretend we are having a casual talk.   The percussion of his lips and teeth the piano strings of his tongue the squeak of the wind escaping the corners of his mouth take their turns sounding out and somehow their music turns into thoughts and ideas and feelings.   I do speak sometimes But he lets my words To be few and eventually I learn to appreciate and listen. His wild talk sometimes puts me into ennui sometimes takes me with it on gentle waves of reassurance that blows the winds of change my way and all my fears unwind until I learn- I am not alone!